


War Oh Glourious War

by akspick



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5725618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akspick/pseuds/akspick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock hides from his brother in the only bureaucracy his brother can't touch, Her Majesties Royal Marines. He wasn't looking for whatever John was, but there she sat in sand colored scrubs anyway. She was... Interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Oh Glourious War

Sherlock Holmes had reached his end. If his brother stuck him in one more "recovery" center he would truly go insane. The whole point of his little habit was to make the boredom go away, not get him stuck with truly nothing to do. So he made his plans, gathered his documents, after all no need for him to go through such silly things as training, and he fled. He ran to the only place his brother truly couldn't touch him; her majesty's finest, the royal marines. Although the people were probably stupider then any he could ever find in London, he found to his delight that war, oh glorious War was _not boring_.

Doctor Johanna Watson. She really did rather like the sound if it, but she wanted something different, something more. Even tense surgeries weren't enough, it was just all so… the same. She was 23 years old for god's sake she didn't need a pretty uniform, she shouldn't feel a pulling in her gut every time she watched reruns of M*A*S*H. But somehow it just all looked so very important, so very really _real_ , in a way her life wasn't, and so she fled. She left the weight of normality behind, of tedious existence, and she found it, whatever it was, in the Royal Army Medical Corp, she felt alive.

Lieutenant Cosmo Hell Sehker known as Cozie to his unit was known as a bit of an odd one, but it was the marines so they were all a little odd, more then a little, but he was the best damned sniper any of them had ever seen, even if he was a dick, and well, none of them were entirely unconvinced he wasn't a wizard. He always knew when an attack was coming, and the way he could spot IEDs was nothing short of magic. They put up with his suicidal behavior and frenetic bipolar attitude because he had saved all their lives more then once. His men also appreciated the particularly vicious way he dug into his superiors both subtly to their faces and behind their backs most openly, and to the lieutenant's surprise he found himself almost well liked. Then he found himself even more surprised at the fact that he was surprised; hardly anything ever found its way past his intellect unexpected.

The one other thing that the dear Lieutenant found himself amazed at was how peaceful it was to kill people. Finally, perched up on a ledge somewhere heart slowing with his breathing, he had found something better than any drug to shut down his mind. The utter focus as he observed every single aspect around him falling into the patterns in his mind, the wind the heat, even the bugs in and the dirt, and translating to the tiniest adjustments of his rifle, calmed his mind like nothing else. He could sit for hours in perfect stillness, so still he could feel his own heartbeat, and his mind was blissfully beautifully silent. Never before in his life had he ever experienced such a thing before, the closest he had come was the one time he had assisted dear old Mrs. Hudson with her husband.

Captain Johanna Watson, called Doc, who had quickly been promoted after her superior had been killed by an IED was known as the coolest head in all of Afghanistan. Even the marines respected her bravery when she had come under fire while traveling with a convoy to supervise the set up of a remote medical outpost. She was at her absolute best in her fourth even fifth hour of surgery, and her hands remained steady no matter what happened. She was not particularly funny, nor did she drink or generally socialize a great deal, but she did care for her men (and women) like a mama bear. When one of her American nurses was raped she didn't even bother with official channels knowing it was going nowhere she had simply taken her browning and gone after him. She talked to a few people and a tall dark haired Marine with the most unusual combination of features that some how managed to be handsome appeared to take care of the rest, introducing himself only as Lieutenant, shielded by his condescending attitude. His long spider hands covered in callouses had given hers a sharp shake, eyes drilling through her, before unwrapping a tarp and getting to work. Johanna had simply gone to file reports but not before washing her hands as if for surgery, it was only later that she realized her thoughts had not in the least strayed to Macbeth only to the fact that guns left microscopic residue. Her thoughts also contemplated those long white fingers wrapping around hers, and some part of her was pleased that a killer had greeted her as an equal. Her breath stayed even but her heart caught in her throat when several months later that same killer showed up on her operating table.

As crazy as Cozie was it was inevitable that he would eventually get shot, that didn't stop him from being extremely put out by it. When he had felt the bullet strike his thigh and spin him like a child's toy, his first thought was 'oh bother my brother will surely find me now' before he had passed into unconsciousness. He had lasted about two hours in the hospital before he was once again _bored._ He set to bothering the nurses, after all the bullet had only grazed him he should be up and about now before the doctor in charge of shift had burst in. Her body, in the sand covered scrubs, was short but muscular, making him rather think of swimmers, with short blonde coarse hair pulled back by about a dozen pins and an elastic, and the last time he had seen her she had been delivering him a body to dispose of. Amazingly despite the fact that she recognized him she was not in the least anxious, and was instead glaring him down. A small smile flittered across his face as he settled in, interlacing his fingers and closing his eyes, here was someone who would make him _not bored._

"So Lieutenant," Johanna paused to check this enigmatic man's name, "Cosmo H. Sehker, may I enquire as to why you were tormenting my nurses?" The man's long hands seemed to settle gently together across his chest like a butterfly as he peered out at her from one seal grey eye, his face settling into haughtiness.

"Oh no reason I suppose, although now I think on it they were rather beneath my notice weren't they? And if you would, refer to me as Cozie? Everyone else in this tedious place does." Johanna just stared at him in bemusement.

"How have they not brought you up on insubordination charges yet?"

"Well, I don't do it in front of any one important, John" the lieutenant replied rolling his eyes on that, and finally resting them on Johanna, "that is what you prefer to be called isn't it Captain?"

"How did you know that? Everyone in this 'tedious place' as you so kindly called it calls me Doc, and you Lieutenant are supposed to call me Ma'am."

"As if you really want me to do that, John, and I knew because…" and then this man this crazy man proceeded to detail everything down to her sister's drinking problems.

"Brilliant," Johanna breathes staring down at her patient, "Why aren't you in Military Intelligence?"

"That's not what people usually say," this Cozie, stares up at her almost in puzzlement, "they usually tell me to piss off. And I'm not in Military Intelligence because my idiot of brother would find me."

"Your brother's in military intelligence and he doesn't know where you are?"

"Well that's rather the point of joining the marines under a false name isn't it? And my brother isn't in military intelligence; he is military intelligence, and the British government to boot."

"You do realize you just confessed a major crime to me correct?"

"Well it seems to me Doctor Watson that we are already keeping each others secrets so one more can't hurt can it?"

"Yes, mutual black mail, convenient that."

"Yes, Rather, and I suppose you must call me Sherlock now."

"Only if you call me John."

This man holds out one of his spider hands again,

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Johanna Watson."

"How do you feel about the violin?"

John as it turns out is rather fond of the violin and smuggles one to Sherlock when she comes to visit him after hours later. She's also rather fascinated by his tale of escape from his brother's electronic eye. She alters a great deal of Sherlock's paper work to keep him further out of it. No one accuses her of fraternization, after all she's in charge of this particular outpost. When Sherlock's released two weeks later to further recover in a hospital in Germany she requests leave and goes to visit him as soon as she can.

They have a grand time, and manage to solve a murder to boot, before they're both whisked off to active duty again. After all they're two of kind, whatever that kind is, adrenaline junkies, warriors, crazy, and there is a war to get back to, thank gods.

They do continue to write back and forth though. Johanna feels something of Sherlock's spy, running experiments for him and reporting back, as well as getting news of other troop movements. All in all she enjoys the whole thing, not to mention the little daily compendiums of amusements they share with one another at just how utterly stupid the military is, and Sherlock is really the only one who understands her love of London.

They haven't even kissed yet, or really expressed anything romantic at all when Sherlock asks her to marry him. And at first she nearly drops the letter into the sink, at which she is brushing her teeth, in surprise, before reading the rest of it and realizing that yes it really is very logical, and beyond that after Germany she knew in her heart there was going to be no one else for her, they simply were already, despite the lack of anything traditionally approaching romance. Sherlock had laid it all plainly out for her.

  


_'My Dearest John,_

_I have come to the realization that we should be married at the closest possible date. Not only are both of us liable to end up dead at any time and so should not delay, but you are the only one who does not incessantly bore me, and put up with what I have been told is my abominable countenance. As such a person is exceedingly rare, I am making expedient steps to bind that person to me. Besides it seems the only way in which to secure leave together. I can think of no other future then of one with you at my side, solving murders. Thus Johanna Watson I request your hand in marriage._

_Love, I suppose_

_Sherlock Holmes_

_P.S. Did you read the article about desert insects and preservation, I found some of their conclusions to be off.'_

  


_'Dear Sherlock,_

_I too cannot think of a future without you in it, so yes I will marry you. There really isn't any other option is there?_

_Love Most Definitely_

_John Watson_

_P.S. Only some of their conclusions were wrong, I believe they also conducted their experiments in the American desert, which would change the results. Honestly Americans.'_

  


It was their marriage certificate that got Sherlock kicked out of the army. It threw up flags on his brother's radar. It was Johanna who Mycroft got to first. He didn't bother with MPs simply took her out of her bed, all very cloak and dagger.

"Oh, I suppose you must by Mycroft." We're the first words out of Johanna's mouth when the hood was yanked off her head. She continued in that cheerfully serious way of hers, "I'd rather expected you to have a tail and horns, the way Sherlock describes you."

"Where is my brother Ms. Watson?"

"Firstly, it's no longer Ms. as I'm sure you're aware, it's Captain to you, Doctor if you really must, and secondly you honestly think I'm going to tell you that? I won't even go into the psychological issues that go with you stalking your brother. He's an adult he can make his own choices. One of which was marrying me, so piss the fuck off."

"Have no doubt I can make you very very uncomfortable Ms. Watson if you do not answer my questions. Now where is my brother?"

"I am well aware of the extent of your power Mr. Mycroft Holmes. But see you have no idea what Sherlock's been doing these last two years he's been gone. I do. Did you know I met him when disposing of a body? So let me tell you if you even lay one finger on me, you will find _yourself_ very very uncomfortable, quite possibly even dead. And Really? If your men had even done a half decent job they would have found Sherlock's current address by going through my correspondence, or asked the secretary at the front desk, or really anyone in the hospital, as they all know where their boss's husband is stationed. Honestly, no wonder Sherlock's always telling me the troops are getting incorrect information."

The MPs did come for Sherlock, but they waited until he had made it back to base. He was reviewing his latest hit in his mind trying to find flaws while laying shirtless on top of his Humvee, dog tags glinting in the sun. John called it sunning, he had protested that it was only logical to build up a tolerance to the UV rays when their supplies were limited. John's only response had been an eye role and to hand him sun screen.

"Lieutenant Sehker?" one of the MP's had called up shielding his eyes, to stare at the tall lean man stretched leisurely across the vehicle.

"I suppose the game is up then?" Sherlock commented, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"Yes, sir, you're under arrest for impersonating an army officer, and falsifying government documents."

"Pity, I'd hoped to stay long enough to break the distance shooting record." Sherlock had issued a put upon sigh, before sliding down the side of the Humvee and offering his wrist for hand cuffs.

Of course Sherlock got off scot-free. There were several flaming rows with Mycroft, the first of which was about going back to rehab, the second of which was about John, Mycroft seemed convinced she was some evil harpy, the third of which was about nothing in particular just Mycroft being a prat. Finally he was released back into the general population of London, and promptly got himself arrested by one Gregory Lestrade for murder, which he promptly proved he hadn't done, and then set himself up as a consulting detective.

He wrote to John constantly of course, although the topic of his marriage never seemed to come up at work, despite the fact that he wore his ring openly. 'There was less hope for the police department than I had previously thought.' He wrote to John in desperate boredom one day. He slurped up the little bits of desert life in her letters like a man dying of thirst, and some days they were the only thing that kept him from going out and planning a hit, both the kind with a gun and the kind with a needle.

'So plan one.' John had wrote him back, 'it's not the death that relieves the boredom, as far as I can tell you don't care one way or another about the death, it's the hunting and the details, the planning. No one says you can't go hunt a deer."

'Brilliant,' he wrote back, 'I could kiss you!' but instead of one her characteristic replies of 'you better' or some such other nonsense there was nothing only silence for nearly three weeks.

Sherlock was working desperately, trying to resist going to Mycroft for information when an army Sergeant had approached him at Scotland Yard, cap in hand. Lestrade who had been trying desperately to convince Sherlock that there weren't any cold cases had watched with utter astonishment as Sherlock's face had morphed into a mask of utter blankness and he had snapped to something resembling attention.

"Mr. Holmes." The Sergeant had muttered saluting; Lestrade's jaw had nearly hit the floor when Sherlock had saluted back with a sharp, "Sergeant." Then the Sergeant had handed over a telegram and left. Sherlock's face had gone even blanker as he read the telegram. Then fingers trembling Sherlock had folded the letter carefully, placing it in an inside pocket of his great coat, and turned to leave.

"Thank you, Lestrade, but I am no longer in any need of any cold cases."

"Wait, Sherlock, was that a case from your brother, do I need to rescue you or something."

"No, Inspector, Thank you for the offer, but I will be heading to Germany for the next several weeks. Do not bother sending me cases." And with that Sherlock swept out. Lestrade wasn't sure what the strangest bit of that entire encounter had been. The army Lieutenant, the note, Sherlock's behavior, including the fact that he said thank you twice in as many minutes or the fact that he didn't want cases. Lestrade's hand had been two inches from picking up the phone to call Mycroft before he had thought better of it and just gone to stare out the window instead, his life would be complicated soon enough he supposed.

When Johanna woke up her first thought was to the fact that she needed to stop the blood- her second thought had been why it was so damn bright inside a downed helicopter – her third had been expressed in the form of a smile at her husband's face. After a glass of water she had turned to him.

"I guess they got to me in time?"

"Yes but it was a near thing. You didn't respond to my letters I was worried."

"I'm sorry Sherlock, next time I'm shot I'll make sure to write you from my coma."

"Yes, well, you almost made me inquire at Mycroft's door."

"Then I definitely won't do it again, where am I?"

"Germany, I suppose we have matching scars now."

"I suppose we do, am I?"

"Invalided, yes, I found us a new flat in London."

"Hmm, Sherlock Holmes are you asking me to move in with you."

"Yes, I was told that spouses generally lived together. I hope your opinion about the violin hasn't changed." and that was the end of that.

Sherlock's long arms wrapped around John's waist and swung her around,

"John it's Christmas, a fourth suicide!" John grinned back, her hands resting on Sherlock's shoulders.

"Sherlock, What-"Lestrade began. Sherlock lowered John back to the floor, scowling at the interruption to his own little world.

"Oh, Yes, Lestrade, my wife, Doctor Johanna Watson, recently of the RAMC," the way Sherlock's lips formed John's name sent shivers down John's spine. The pride in Doctor, the way her first name had just the slightest German accent, giving just the same respect as Bach.

"Pleasure to meet you," John pumps Lestrade's hand, limp in shock, "Sherlock talks about you under anesthesia, highest compliment there is."

"I-, What-, Sherlock you're _Married_?"

"Yes for a year now, do try to keep up Lestrade."

"But, w-w-what, where, who?"

Sherlock opened his mouth for a scathing remark, but John cut him off.

"I met him when he turned up on my operating table, I've been in Afghanistan, deployed for most of our marriage, which, really Sherlock, has been a year and a half, I thought you took pride in being precise, and no he didn't trick me into marrying him."

"Yes, marriage was the inevitable conclusion on both our parts." John laughed, at Sherlock's stiff nod, and Lestrade's stuttering face.

"What he means is we're both equally crazy and no one else would have us, now the murder? There hasn't been enough excitement in weeks." And John proceeded to clamber down the stairs without her cane.

"That proves your limp is psychosomatic, you know." Sherlock called down the stairs.

"I know, but until you figure out how to bloody fix it, it still bloody hurts Sherlock!" her reply came floating back as Sherlock charged down the stairs after her, leaving a gasping Lestrade alone in the empty flat.

**Author's Note:**

> Cosmo Hell Sehker, is an anagram of Sherlock Holmes. Cosmos is a german name that of course means one from the stars or gods, and of course hell sehker sounds like hell seeker. So I intended his name to mean the great one who seeks hell. It seemed an appropriate name for both Sherlock and a marine. Crazy bastards, Marines, the lot of them. I also thought it was amusing that Sherlock named himself after the stars when he can't even remember our planet is heliocentric.


End file.
